


When The World Did Not End

by glinda4thegood



Series: Victoria Winslow/Ivan Simanov Series [10]
Category: RED (2010), RED 2 (2013)
Genre: F/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glinda4thegood/pseuds/glinda4thegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They always meet after a mission. Spoilers for Red 2 (2013).</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The World Did Not End

"He calls her _baby._ "

"It is not an uncommon endearment." Ivan handed Victoria a piece of night-cooled orange and an icy shot glass of vodka. "All these years -- when I called you Bunny, did you find that a disparaging endearment?"

Ivan didn't look any younger in moonlight, Victoria thought fondly, but the colorless light limned quicksilver into his hair and beard and smoothed his rough complexion. The play of black and white, shadow and light, gave him an aspect of Grecian statuary viewed in some moon-dappled Mediterranean grotto. A wedge of silvered chest hair glimpsed between his unbuttoned dress shirt somehow enhanced her ethnically inappropriate fantasy of an ancient Russian Pan dressed in spy blacks.

"Bugger," Victoria muttered around a mouthful of sweet orange. One of the common warning signs of over-exposure to Russian poetry was thinking mythically romantic shite. She tilted her head to toss back the vodka, and every half-cynical thought stilled and evaporated as the alcohol hit the back of her throat. The infinite canopy of sable and diamond blinked at her, then blurred as a small inferno ignited midchest.

"That's good." Victoria blew out a long breath and held out her glass for a refill. "You have never disparaged me in any way. It is one of the things I love most about you."

Ivan refilled her glass, grinning the droop-eyed, cossack grin that usually warned Victoria he was about to explore some targeted portion of her anatomy. "So what is your concern with Frank and Sarah? Is it with Frank, or with Sarah? I have always thought your feelings for Frank those of family."

"Francis is family." Victoria toyed with the shot glass, rolling the cold surface against her palms before taking the second shot. "But, sometime in the last few years, it occurred to me that in all my extended family I have a poor showing of sisters."

Ivan's hand stilled on the vodka bottle. He sighed, stoppered the bottle, and placed it in the small ice chest near their picnic basket. "Katja."

"I didn't like her," Victoria found herself saying quickly. "Never liked her. But we were on tandem operations twice, and she was very competent."

"And Frank . . ."

"Frank respected Katja's professionalism. He became emotionally entangled, and cared for her more than he was ever able to admit. And Frank never called her _baby._ "

It seemed important to put this on the record. Victoria had never been one for taking loud or public exception to the obvious fact that even come the 21st century it was still largely a man's world. Her revolutionary acts of protest had been mostly silent, and selectively targeted.

"And now she is dead." 

Victoria hugged her knees up against her chest. She rubbed her cheek against the roughly soft fabric of the vintage silk caftan that floated over her naked skin like sun warmed air. "Miscalculation. Incomplete analysis. What Marvin would assess as idiotically low levels of mistrust and paranoia. How much experience is there between us? Frank, Marvin. You, me. Katja." 

"The best of us cannot predict every tangent a mission will take." Ivan positioned his back against the broad trunk of the tree under which they had settled. "I neglected to mention how lovely you look in that garment -- before I removed it the first time."

Ivan's voice matched his exterior. Rough and experienced. Quiet. Dangerous. Victoria loved his voice. The vodka inferno took an elevator toward the basement. The years had barely diminished her instinctive physical reactions to this man. 

He smiled. 

She was wet.

"Every time you look at me, you tell me." 

Under moon and starlight the faded butter hue of the caftan's fabric acquired a silvery rosegold sheen. A gift from Ivan, _from Tangiers_ he had said. _A thing from past splendor._ The exquisite fabric was thick, durable, and carried a scent of sandalwood that careful hand-washings could not eradicate. 

"Are you done in Russia for now? I'm headed back to the States. British Intelligence -- every arm of British Intelligence -- is pissed with me. Never did like working for them, after I retired. Miserly arseholes." Victoria sniffed. "After the Bailey clusterfuck it will take some time for the winds of change to expend their furies."

"I kept reasonably low profile, but exit from Moscow is strongly indicated. Cooper tells me his crew is nearly done with renovations at Eagle's Nest. I will join you there, if I cannot convince them to send me back to New York embassy. I have American talent agent who has arranged lecture tour for me." Ivan's chest rumbled with a deep laugh. "You change topic."

Age had dulled neither Ivan Simanov's intellect nor tradecraft, Victoria thought. Sly old Russian bear that he was. "To answer your question, I worry about Sarah. She has chosen her path late in life. She has chosen her man. And her man calls her _baby_."

"He doesn't see her like that, you know." Ivan's words were very gentle. "Frank is concerned and does not know how to express that concern. I see how much he cares for her. How much he worries. This life we have shared is not for most people. The best of us can take a misstep, falter over a stone and leave the game. You and I, _milaya moya_ trained during fag end of cold war. Very dangerous time. Very demanding and exacting for people in our profession. Frank and Marvin are of a later time; still dangerous and demanding. Today . . ." Ivan shrugged. "Today there are few hard men and women being trained for the work. And their skill set is slightly different."

" _Fag end of the cold war_? Been reading spy thrillers again, my love?" Smiling, Victoria reached for another slice of orange. "Marvin has been working with her. I don't know if that's good or bad."

"Is good. Surprising, but good." Ivan's hand captured hers, stopped it from withdrawing. "Give me your evaluation of Sarah as a joe."

Remarkable, extraordinary man. "I do love you." Victoria leaned into him, curling her fingers into his until juice ran from the orange. She found Ivan's mouth and concentrated on the kiss with ferocious awareness of the subvocal thrill of groan that traveled from his throat along his jaw; of the way he tasted of vodka and orange. Of the scent of pine resin on the night around them. Of the throb between her legs and the racing thrill across the hollow of her thigh. "Sarah is raw, but shows unexpected skills." Taking a moment to recover her breath, Victoria carried their fingers to her mouth and licked the trails of juice. "In another time she would have made femme fatale extraordinare."

"I would like to see you naked again, in moonlight. That would truly be _extraordinare_ . . . " Ivan sighed, taking their fingers back and touching them to his mouth. "She has the empathy, the instinct for connection. Frank will adjust. Marvin will teach. You and I will contribute what we can. Sarah will be one of the new century hybrids; vigor grafted onto old stock."

"And I will _encourage_ Frank not to call her baby. Not to think of her as _baby_." Victoria leaned forward, let her fingers travel down the modest vee of exposure on Ivan's chest. "Have you ever been afraid for me?"

"Concerned, perhaps. Afraid of you -- at least once."

There was a long, breathy space of time. When the kiss ended, Victoria was naked, her caftan puddled against the picnic basket. 

"He gave her pretty gun."

"It's a start." Victoria sniffed. "I did check it out. Better than pretty, it was a very functional gun."

"You are smiling." The dark fall of Ivan's shirt dimmed the caftan's gold. "Tell me."

"Look up." Her arm snaked up and drew him down beside her. "What do you see?"

"The world did not end. We remain. Is good." 

"Oh yes. Is good."


End file.
